


Containment

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, BAMF Phil Coulson, Clint's a very smart guy, Gen, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt, pre Clint/Coulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One agent on a recruiting mission for Nick Fury, to lure one of the most dangerous criminals to their side. He never shoots first, but he always finishes a fight. That could be useful to SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Containment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shazrolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/gifts).



_He’s a ghost. He’s ruthless. He’s a cold-hearted killer and beyond dangerous. He’s a machine. Stay clear. If you get eyes on him, keep close, but not too close, and call for backup. You won’t get close, though._

_The Ghost doesn’t make mistakes._

Three years with SHIELD and this is what he knew, what he had drilled into his head once he got clearance to learn about The Ghost. What he learned was intriguing, to say the least.

SHEILD only knew a bit about The Ghost. They had a high school newspaper clipping about a debate team award, he was a National Merit Scholar, he had a full academic ride planned to a top state university, and then . . . he disappeared. His parents died when he was young, and the aunt that was raising him had no idea what happened to him two days after he turned eighteen.

Neither did anyone else. The police had been brought in, but no one could find anything. He’d had a sizeable amount of money saved up from working part-time since he was sixteen, full time in the summers, and it disappeared, too. He closed out his accounts, left his driver’s license and other IDs in an oak dresser drawer and vanished.

He showed up on SHIELD’s radar six years later – a photo at a big-time weapons ring deal in Lima, Peru. Facial recognition and a distinctive scar that ran down the side of his neck from a skiing accident when he was thirteen determined it was a ninety-four percent chance this was the same guy. Another job a year later in Milan caught a half a fingerprint, and it was a match. He slowly made his way up SHIELD’s wanted list as he continued to disrupt their operations in key political areas. He was smart, savvy, and had built up some very good connections since he left his hometown in the Midwest.

“I want to bring The Ghost in, Nick.”

The two agents sat drinking coffee and eating the famous pumpkin pie in the SHIELD cafeteria.

“He’s a ruthless killer,” Fury answered.

“I was a shade away from being a ruthless killer and you brought me in. Besides, I don’t think he’s _ruthless_.”

“Johannesburg, two years ago,” Nick replied. He sipped his coffee like that should be the end of the argument.

“Okay, that was pretty fucking ruthless. But the bastards deserved it.”

Nick put his coffee down and steepled his fingers. “Killer with a heart of gold? That’s pretty cliché for you.”

“No one with his story is gold. He’s a genius strategist, though. How many teams have tried to take him out and failed?”

“Three. He made short work of all of them,” Fury said, and leaned back in his chair.

“But not ruthless work. They’re all alive. He’s only ruthless when they deserve it.”

“I don’t particularly like my agents meting out justice. I don’t need a Robin Hood on my team.”

“You need smart team players. I know. Took you a while to make me one of those, though. Plus I’m a Robin Hood and you love it.”

Fury chuckled and shrugged. “We’re not talking about you. Besides, how will you do it? Bat those mile-long lashes his way?”

“Well, it _might_ work, but no. He’s tired. He’s getting sloppy, and this guy doesn’t do sloppy. Now’s our chance, and I’ll make it work.” He paused and grinned. “I’ll wait to seduce him until he’s safe on our side.”

“No one’s safe with you.” Nick said, sounding as long-suffering as he could, and he swallowed the last of his coffee. “Okay. One shot. Hire him or get rid of him. One of the two. I’m tired of him being a thorn in my side.”

That was all it took. Now a small, three-man team was in Atlanta and combing the back alleys looking for a ghost.

They found him.

He was finishing a meet-up, and there was clearly something wrong. His face was pale, his step was uneven, his mouth was drawn tight and thin. It was a good time to strike.

“Agent Clint Barton of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, codename Hawkeye, ordering you to stand down!” Clint called, drawing himself and his bow taught against the threat The Ghost brought, even when something was wrong.

Clint was repeating ‘don’t run, don’t run, don’t run’ under his breath, but apparently Phillip J. Coulson was in no mood to get caught today.

A flash grenade appeared in Coulson’s hand and was detonated just as Clint’s arrow flew, and chaos erupted. Three gunshots forced Clint’s team to take cover, and there was a blur of a dark blue suit zipping up to the roof of a nearby warehouse on a zip cord he’d rigged to pull himself up quickly. Clint saw him yank an arrow out of his shoulder when he got to the top.

Clint leapt to the nearest fire escape and ascended quickly, his bow slung across his back.

As he climbed slowly over the edge of the roof, a bullet ricocheted off the gravel rooftop, so Clint rolled to the side and came up with an arrow nocked and pointed at The Ghost, who was standing in the shadows. “You really do look like a ghost today, Coulson,” he called. “I’m not here to make it true, though.”

“Why are you here, then, Hawkeye?” a soft voice called back.

Clint was surprised at its tenor, expecting a harsh growl at best from a guy who was clearly in trouble and shot with an arrow a minute ago. Instead it sounded cultured and smooth, albeit on the weak side. Clint liked it. For some reason, Coulson’s voice confirmed to Clint that this was not someone they wanted to kill.

It would be a waste to do that.

“I’m here to offer you a position,” he answered, and Coulson’s laugh was brittle and sharp. Clint went on, “Really, though. SHIELD figures you’d make a hell of an asset, and wouldn’t it make all of this go away?”

“All of _what_ , Barton,” came the answer, and now it was angry as well.

“Something’s slowing you down. You never would’ve let us get this close if something wasn’t going wrong. We can help.”

“You just ‘helped’ by putting an arrow in my shoulder. You’re not very convincing.”

Yeah, Clint _really_ liked the sound of this guy. “I’m setting down my bow. No more arrows. No more shooting from me if you don’t shoot first.”

“I don’t shoot first,” Coulson replied, his voice going quiet again.

Clint thought he heard his breath hitching a little from the pain. He wondered why it made his own heart clench in sympathy, but he had an idea. This was why he wanted to find this guy and bring him to Nick. The Ghost never shot first, but he always finished the fight. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we’re offering you a safe place to work. Come in with me and hear the offer. Let our docs patch you up and see what else is wrong.”

“And if I don’t like your offer?” Coulson asked, stepping out into the sunlight.

Clint was struck by the fact that the guy was older than him, even though his brain knew that already. Coulson had lines creasing his face, his hair was thinning, and he carried himself with a weight that Clint hadn’t learned yet. Clint put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I figure you’re sharp enough to make an escape if you need to.”

And it was true, too. Clint stood here and looked at this legendary criminal in his perfectly pressed navy suit with a bloodstain on the shoulder and pale, grey skin, and he heard a gentle fierceness in Coulson’s voice that told him this was a man who would not be contained unless he allowed it.

Their gazes locked now, and Clint looked into Coulson’s deep blue eyes without flinching. After a moment, a weary smile worked its way all the way to those eyes and Coulson nodded. “I need a doctor,” he said carefully. “And maybe some help with another matter, if I think Nick Fury can help me.”

Clint laughed. Coulson knew Fury’s name. That was the icing on the cake, and Clint reached up and tapped his comm. “Hey Sitwell,” he said, “Can I get a lift for my friend and I?”

Sitwell let him know the chopper was on its way, and Clint reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of water. He tossed it to Coulson, who caught it with a wince. He holstered his gun, unscrewed the lid, and drank, draining the whole bottle in one long pull.

Clint stepped forward and took the empty from him. “You wanna tell me about the other matter on the way?” he asked, and Coulson carefully cradled the arm with the arrow wound in his good hand.

“Only if you’re cleared to discuss another criminal who goes by the name of Black Widow,” Coulson said.

The sound of the chopper blades drowned out Clint’s startled laugh. This guy was going to make SHIELD a _hell of a lot_ more interesting, Clint was sure of that.

 


End file.
